Lights
by Unsuspected
Summary: You see, you see so very clearly everything that could have happened, everything that has, and everything that will, the ever-so-blurred line dividing them, and how easily all of it could change in an instant. Donna Noble and Martha Jones and Amelia Pond and, oh dear god, that man in the bow tie is going to be the Doctor, isn't he?


(Killing you, killing you. The lights are killing you.)

A man. Tall, thin. And god, that hair. That hair will be fantastic.

This man... He will be the Doctor.

(You can't take much more of this.)

You'll travel together, you and that new (rather attractive, if you do say so yourself) Doctor.

And there won't be any of that "dancing" nonsense, will there? No, you'll be getting right to it, won't you?

(No, no, no. It's going to kill you.)

Lights. More lights. They're killing you know, and they—they're going to kill you again, aren't they? (Lucky girl you are, getting to die again.)  
No, no you aren't going to die, but you would. But someone will save you—_oh my god_, that's your dad—but no you'll not have been saved at all. No, no you will want to go, you won't want to be stuck there, no all of this, it will all have gone wrong.

(How much longer, now?)

He will save you. The Doctor will come to save you.

No he will not. He will not be able to save you. All he will be able to do is say goodbye, and even that will not be him, merely a projection, barely there at all, cut off before he will even finish speaking. But you will know, all the same, what it was he was going to say, though you will still long to hear him say it one last time, a final addition to the countless memories of him that will surely fade with time, no matter how desperately you will cling to them.

(Please let it end, please, Doctor, end it now.)

But no, that's wrong. That will not happen. Because you'll be spending your forever with him. You'll travel forever, the Doctor and Rose Tyler—you'll see everything. And no one will be able to stop you.

(Why aren't you dead? You should be dead. No one should be able to see these things you see. But he does. The Doctor does. And now, so do you.)

But no, that's not right. You'll be trapped there, where the Doctor will not be able to save you. That must be what will happen, because you can see it so clearly.

It's weird, really, how the memories of him will crop up unexpectedly sometimes. It will not hit you in dramatic flashes of memories of your adventures, of your bets, of those glances you'd so often share.

Rather, it will take you by surprise when you won't find the small scar you'd had since you were a kid, so long you can't even remember what had caused it. And you'll realize why, just like you always will, and for a second you'll be back with him—back to that day that everybody lived and, miracle of miracles, the Doctor danced. And so that shining memory, just for a moment, will become your reality, before she got back to whatever it was she had been doing before.

It will never be a big thing, and it will never, ever result in sadness. Because you will think of him, and you will know that he would not want that.

(Can't be too much longer, can't be, not now.)

And someone'll mention something, and you'll smirk because as much as you two'd seen, there was twice as much that he'd made some ridiculous joke about. And why not admit it, you'll have thought of it.

You'll find it all quite funny, won't you? Because you will not have been thinking of the stars, of everywhere you two will have gone. Not you, Rose Tyler. You'll be thinking of that awful Slitheen joke he will have told you.

(It's burning you now, not the light, welcoming warmth of before, but scorching you, destroying you.)

No. That won't happen. That is wrong.

Because you'll get your forever, perhaps, but you won't be traveling. The TARDIS, something will happen to it, and you'll be stuck.

He will grin at you first, almost like it was some sort of joke, before examining it.

It will be weeks before he'll admit it, even though you'll have known for much longer.

You will have been staying at home all this time, of course. But something about it will feel so very wrong to you that you'll insist you find a place of your own.

Well, not _entirely_ your own.

Your mother won't be all too pleased with the arrangement, not at first, and the Doctor will be whining about how very human all of this is, and how stealing a time machine was so much easier. But you'll catch him smiling, just a bit, every once in a while, and you'll almost wonder if all of time and space could even compare.

Though at times you'll think that it may be nothing more than a poorly concealed smirk, considering that it will appear rather often when your mother will get a bit too nosy about these living arrangements of yours—particularly when the question of what you'll be doing there will arise.

(Over, over, over. It's about to end. Isn't it? It must be. God, you hope it is.)

It does It ends.

But not before you see, you see so very clearly everything that could have happened, everything that has, and everything that will, the ever-so-blurred line dividing them, and how easily all of it could change in an instant. Donna Noble and Martha Jones and Amelia Pond and, oh dear god, that man in the bow tie is going to be the Doctor, isn't he?

Then the go dark and you're in the TARDIS with him once more.

And he's dying now.

He'll be safe, he'll be safe. You've kept him safe. Of course you have, you must have. Otherwise, this has all been for nothing.

He will be, though. He's telling you he will be.

And then—oh, god no—more lights, more lights, yellowy orange in color, and almost firelike.

And then a strange man in the Doctor's clothing is standing before you, staring at you expectantly.

And you've got the strangest feeling you know him from somewhere.

* * *

**AN: Yes, the future-present tense mix was intentional. Hopefully it was just confusing enough that it added to the writing rather than distracting you from it. We can all agree that Doctor Who just begs for things like this to be written, right? Thanks for reading!**


End file.
